


every breath and every hour

by orphan_account



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 13:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Charlotte and Becky exchange Christmas gifts, with an ocean between them





	every breath and every hour

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Miss Flair's social media activity. I am, as usual, blameless.
> 
> The title is from Ben&Ben's "Leaves."
> 
> Try as hard as I might  
> To flee the shadows of the night  
> It haunts me and it makes me feel blue  
> But how can I try to hide  
> When every breath and every hour  
> I still end up thinking of you  
> And in the end everything we have makes it worth the fight  
> So I will hold on for as long
> 
> As leaves will soon grow from the bareness of trees  
> And all will be alright in time

Christmas begins early for Becky.

By September, she already has a list of people to give gifts to, and she begins her shopping early. She shops for her family and co-workers, for friends and bosses. A perk of traveling all over the world is that she gets to buy unique gifts every Christmas, and she makes the most of it.

By November, when her fellow WWE Superstars are just beginning to think about their Christmas shopping, Becky is almost done. For the most part, it is easy. Truthfully, the wrestlers are not picky -- most of them would be happy with a nice bottle of wine or a high-quality coffee roast.

It goes without saying that Charlotte isn't quite like most wrestlers. At least, not for Becky.

Becky spends hours upon hours thinking of what to give her best friend for Christmas. When she isn't thinking about the ring, she's thinking of Charlotte's Christmas gift.

Because she feels, quite honestly, that she owes Charlotte the most precious of Christmas gifts this year -- as a way of expressing her gratitude, and her apologies. She feels that she has to give Charlotte a tangible reminder of her love, because she has struggled to show it in the last four months of 2018, especially in public. She feels she has to let Charlotte know that regardless of storylines, of programs, of feuds, their friendship -- their relationship -- is still as strong as ever.

The problem is that Becky doesn't quite know what gift she can give, to the Queen who has everything.

*

They exchange gifts during the last SmackDown Live taping of the year.

Becky has to leave for Los Angeles the next day, after which she will fly to Ireland for a few well-earned days of vacation. She is already looking forward to seeing her mother and her brother, and to linking up with the local gym. She has set up an appointment with her old trainer; when she said that she fully intended to figure out a new move for the next year, she meant it.

But now is not the time to think of training sessions and new moves. Not when Big E is dressed in a Santa Claus outfit, not when Carmella is dressed an elf, not when the food is out and the drinks are flowing, and not when everyone is handing out their gifts -- some wrapped in the most haphazard way, some clearly done professionally.

Becky spares her own gifts a look. In a nod to Daniel Bryan's new persona, she had re-used old newspapers and magazine pages; Daniel laughs when she hands him his gift. Neither Brie nor Birdie are there, but she also has gifts for them, and Daniel receives them with a beaming smile.

"Thank you, Becky," he says, and gives her a gift in exchange. Becky hides a smile when she realizes that Daniel had it wrapped professionally; so much for saving the earth.

She exchanges gifts with several other Superstars before she's down to one last present, one last wrestler. She sighs deeply before pulling it out of the canvas bag that she used to bring them all to the arena, and hesitantly makes her way to where Charlotte is laughing with Carmella and R-Truth. The statuesque blonde reaches out to play with Carmella's elf ears, and Becky's breath catches in her throat as Charlotte laughs, free and easy, with no signs of stress.

It's been a while since Becky last heard her laugh like that.

Becky hesitates even more, and she hates it. She knows that she shouldn't hesitate with Charlotte. Charlotte has told her, time and time again, as their feud grew nastier and more brutal, that outside the ring nothing has changed between them.

Indeed, if anything, they have grown closer: they spent nights planning for the Last Woman Standing match and for the TLC match, and Charlotte made it clear that she trusts Becky with her life. They spent nights going over promos and character beats, thinking of ways to further elevate their feud, to make it one that's unforgettable.

Becky knows she has no reason to hesitate. She and Charlotte are fine. More than fine -- they're great. Charlotte said so herself.

But Becky can't help it. She can't help but wonder if Charlotte is just _saying_ that. She can't help but wonder if she's crossed a line with some of the things she's said, some of the things she's tweeted. Charlotte has told her, repeatedly, that nearly everything is on the table for their feud; the only topic that she asked Becky to steer clear of was her brother, and Becky never had any intention of ever bringing up Reid, anyway.

She drags her feet as she draws closer and closer to where Charlotte is standing, and blanches when her best friend catches sight of her and lights up. Charlotte doesn't appear to notice her reaction: she immediately excuses herself from Carmella and R-Truth and rushes to her, throwing her long arms around Becky and nearly lifting her up in a hug.

"Hey you," Charlotte says, bright and cheery and clearly under the influence of some wine. "Haven't seen  you all night."

"Been handing out gifts like a good ol' Irish Santa," Becky says, looking up as Charlotte puts her forearms on her shoulders, keeping them close. Her cheeks are a little red, whether from the lights or from the wine, Becky's not sure, but she's warm and steady and comforting, and Becky never wants to leave the circle of Charlotte's arms.

It's the unwarranted thought that snaps her out of her reverie, and forces her to take a step back. She looks down to where she's clutching her gift, and Becky completely misses how Charlotte's face drops, just a little, as her arms fall from the Irish woman's shoulders. Becky takes a deep breath, steels herself, then hands the package to Charlotte, silent and a little wary and a little worried.

"Here," she says, her voice soft and uncertain. "Merry Christmas, Charlotte."

Charlotte stares at the quaintly-wrapped gift for a couple of seconds, before taking it and again embracing Becky. "Thank you, Becks," she breathes out, tightening her arms around her best friend. "I have your gift, but it's still in the locker room and -"

"It's okay," Becky says, returning Charlotte's hug a little late. "I just wanted you to have this now."

They stay close together for a few more seconds, before Charlotte steps away and says: "I should get your gift."

Becky nods, a little dumbly. "I'll wait here."

It takes Charlotte all of three minutes to dash from their locker room and back to the open space where they were having their makeshift party. In her hands is a gift; it looks as though Charlotte had it wrapped professionally, but she knows that it is in fact her best friend who put it together. Charlotte likes to wrap gifts herself, and she does it with aplomb.

"Here," Charlotte says. Whereas Becky had been uncertain, Charlotte is smiling brightly and fully, and she hands her gift with a flourish.

Becky feels some of the tension ease from her shoulders at how _happy_ Charlotte seems. When she smiles back, it's less tentative and unsure, and more of her usual grin -- the one that she used to give all the time to Charlotte, before this feud seeped her way into her head and had her questioning her every move around her best friend.

"Thanks, Char," she says, tucking the package under her arm and hugging Charlotte again. When they part, she asks: "How are you gonna spend your Christmas?"

Charlotte's smile falters, just a little slightly. "Um," she says. The blonde woman takes a deep breath, then plunges on. "We planned a small get together at Nia's house on the 22nd," she reveals. "We invited a few people, Kayla and Alexa and Mojo."

Becky nods. She's unsure of how to respond.

"You can come, if you want," Charlotte says, now sounding a little tentative.

The last thing Becky wants is to spend her Christmas with Nia Jax. Oh, she's forgiven the towering woman, but she's still unsure of how to act around the person who quite literally gave her a fractured nose and a concussion, and was rewarded for it with a pay-per-view match. But Charlotte has always been closer to Nia than she is, after all, so this plan made sense.

She shakes her head, finally, after a few seconds of awkward silence. "No, thank you, Charlotte," she says, and Becky hates how stiffly the words come out. "I'm heading out to Dublin the day after tomorrow. But have fun, okay?"

For a very brief moment, Charlotte looks sad and a little confused. She nods in response, then moves to hug Becky again. "I will," she says. "You'll be fine, right?"

"Don't worry about me," Becky tells her, smiling tightly. "I'm going home."

*

The truth was, Becky needed to go home for more reasons than one.

Oh, she missed her family, and she missed her home. But there was also something that Becky needed to _get_ , that she could only acquire in Ireland -- in Dublin, specifically.

Because Becky's gift to Charlotte had been incomplete. She had settled for a onesie, knowing that her best friend would get a laugh out of it, and some ugly Christmas sweaters as well. Upon landing in Los Angeles, Becky had received a message of thanks to Charlotte, featuring several emojis that conveyed her amusement. She had just replied: "I'm glad you like them."

But her gift was still incomplete. There was something else that she needed to get, and she needed to get home - home, _home_ \-- to make the gift complete. To make it perfect.

For now, however, she needs to pack. She smirks a little as she opened the package that she found at her doorstep; Conor McGregor had been true to his word, and sent her a case of his whiskey. She takes some time to post on Instagram about it, before getting down to business.

In the middle of her packing she remembers the gift that Charlotte gave her. She considers opening it, briefly, before putting it inside her suitcase. She decides to unwrap it in Dublin, along with the rest of her gifts.

*

When she arrives in Dublin, Becky is inundated by notifications on Twitter and Instagram. Apparently, Charlotte and Nia's party is a two-day affair; they even had an official hashtag. She smiles when she sees Charlotte wearing the onesie that she gifted. No one will ever know, but them.

Becky has little time to watch all of the Instagram stories that Charlotte posts that day. She is busy almost immediately: she catches up with her mother and her brother, with some of their relatives. She drops by a gym and gets a workout in; she gives a talk to some of the local wrestlers. She plans to return the next day, to work out with her old coach -- the same one who also works with McGregor. Becky knows the Internet will get a kick out of it.

That night sees her catching up with her mum, a glass of McGregor's Proper 12 whiskey in hand. She doesn't usually drink, but it's the holidays and she decides to make an exception. Besides, if she's going to have this discussion with her mother, she knows she will need a little courage of the liquid kind.

"Ma," she begins. "Where did you keep the Claddagh ring that you gave to me when I was a teenager?"

Her mother frowns. "Possibly it's still in my jewelry box, Rebecca," she answers after a few moments of thought. "Why do you need it?"

Becky balks. This is a loaded question, with a loaded answer, and she's unsure of how to explain it to her mother.

Fortunately, her mother still knows her better than she knows herself, even as they spend a good 95% of the year away from one another. The older woman just smiles, and shakes her head. "Ah, it doesn't matter, does it? What's important is that you _finally_ need it."

At that, her mother stands up and heads to her room. Becky takes a few more sips of McGregor's whiskey -- good, but nothing special. She's tasted far better in her many travels, but she has no intention of tweeting _that_. She opens up Instagram and finally watches Charlotte's many, many stories; she laughs at how Charlotte "modeled" the onesie, then choked a little at the story of her best friend wearing a dress that showed off her generous cleavage.

She takes a few more gulps of her drink, at that, before progressing. Becky laughs at Charlotte's antics with Nia and Kayla, then laughs even harder when Mojo makes his appearance.

The last few stories feature Charlotte with Alexa Bliss, and here Becky begins to feel the alcohol rushing through her veins, into her stomach, into her brain, and somehow, into her chest. She downs the last few drops in her glass, then grabs the bottle. For all of two seconds she considers pouring more of the amber liquid into her glass, then decides to drink straight from the source.

There is no reason, she knows, to feel jealous of Alexa Bliss. As far as Becky is aware, she and Charlotte are just friends. Friends and co-workers, nothing more. _Just like you are_ , she thinks.

But as she watches her best friend sing with the Goddess, as she watches them hold hands, Becky feels something close to sadness. To despair. To jealousy, hot and ugly and painful, clawing at her chest and itching at her ribs.

She feels she lost something that she never truly quite got. She wonders if she let something -- _someone_ \-- slip through her grasp, unaware, unconscious, unknowing.

She takes a long pull from the bottle, and closes the app. Numbly, she realizes her mother has returned, and is holding out a small, worn box out to her.

Becky reaches out for it, and fumbles, and almost drops it. She has to laugh: isn't that a little too on the nose?

But she catches the box in time, and she opens it to find the one thing she thought could complete her gift.

An old Claddagh ring. Scuffed and battered and worn, but an authentic one, nevertheless. Her mother gave it to her as a teenager, and Becky had ignored its significance then. At the time all she focused on was her budding career as a wrestler; she had no time for her mother's explanation about how the hands represent friendship; the crown, loyalty; and the heart, love.

She closes the box. She has no doubt Charlotte would know what the ring means.

She drinks again, but doesn't fight it when her mother pulls the bottle away from her. She clutches the box tighter and wonders if anything is even worth it.

*

The next day, Becky has a massive hangover but she bravely shakes it off. She has an appointment at the local gym, and also at a nearby wrestling school. She knows she cannot afford to skip on either of them.

She also has a package to send to the United States.

She opens her phone and checks her schedule. Almost unbidden, she finds herself opening Instagram again, and sees that Charlotte is on her way back to North Carolina.

Becky sighs softly, then pads her way to her suitcase. She pulls out a slim box marked "Tiffany's," and opens it.

The charm bracelet glistens in its bed of purple velvet. The chain itself is beautiful, but the charms are the main attraction. Becky remembers how much time she spent thinking about those charms, how she stole away in the middle of the day, in the midst of her media tour for Evolution, to head into the famed jewelry shop and get the charms custom made.

A wrestling ring. A crown. A robe. A peacock. The number 8. Each with their own special gemstones, each hand-crafted. Becky knows she could have given this to Charlotte, and her best friend would have adored it and loved it, and gushed over it.

But it wasn't complete.

Gingerly, carefully, Becky attaches the Claddagh ring to the final hook, then fixes the charm bracelet back in place. She checks the time; there are still a couple of hours before she has to head to the gym.

She sits down on her bed and contemplates what may happen, if she decides to send this gift, and if Charlotte figures out what she means by it. Just like she did the night before, she wonders if it's worth it.

She is a glutton for punishment. Becky watches again as Charlotte sings with Alexa Bliss, looking happy and comfortable and beautiful. She watches as they hold hands. She wonders what else happened, after that.

 _Ask her_.

_Absolutely fucking not._

_There's no harm in asking her._

_Yes, there is._

It's as if there is an angel and a devil on either of her shoulders, and they are in a shouting match as to her next move. They're but figments of her imagination, of course, but Becky feels her ears ringing nevertheless. She shakes her head and stands up. Of her own volition, she finds herself opening her messenger app, and instinctively picking Charlotte's name.

 _Hey_ , she types out.

 _I'm glad you had fun at Nia's_. There. That was safe.

 _I have a package on the way to your house in NC_.

 _I hope you like it_.

Before she changes her mind again, Becky presses send.

There is no turning back now.

She drops the box on her bed, and reaches for her towel. A shower will clear her head, she knows. As she turns on the water her phone buzzes, but Becky doesn't hear.

*

The message simply says " _Oh?_ " and " _Can't wait_."

*

She throws herself into the work, as she has done all throughout the year. She gives a pep talk to more local wrestlers, including some she's already heard of. It warms Becky's heart to realize that she's truly inspiring more and more Irish women to take up this sport that she so loves; it gives her a feeling of fulfillment, of accomplishment, that even championships and records and five-star matches cannot.

When a little girl shows up to the wrestling school wearing a "The Man" shirt, Becky almost tears up right then and there, but she catches herself and covers it with a laugh, instead.

When the day is over she returns to social media. She makes a few snarky tweets, including a reply to one of Charlotte's, before checking Instagram again. Charlotte's been listening to her sad country music again; Becky wonders why. There's no reason for her to be sad.

She gives in to temptation, finally, and checks the progress of her package.

Becky had not hesitated in paying good money to have it shipped overnight to the U.S., and according to the website, it should arrive on Charlotte's doorstep on Christmas eve.

She sighs, and crosses her fingers. What she is hoping for, she doesn't quite know for sure.

*

Becky decides not to drink again, whether it's McGregor's Proper 12 whiskey or any of the alcohol that made its way to their house on Christmas eve. She even turns down the eggnog that her mother made.

In her turmoil she had all but forgotten about the gift that Charlotte gave her. She pulls the package out of her suitcase, and puts it under the Christmas tree on their living room. On impulse, she takes a picture and sends it to Charlotte.

 _Thanks for the gift_ , she says.

 _You haven't opened it yet?_ Was the response.

Becky hesitates. _No_ , she replies. _Wanted to open it on Christmas like the rest_.

For a long, agonizing minute there was no response, but Becky sees the dots on the screen and knows that Charlotte is typing. She wonders if her best friend is crafting a paragraph, or perhaps a novel, but when the text comes it contains just a few words.

 _I hoped you'd be alone when you opened it_.

Becky stares at the impeccably wrapped gift, sitting silently under the tree. _I will be, don't worry_ , she texts back.

 _Okay,_ came the response, swift this time. Two seconds later, another message followed: _Merry Christmas, Becks_.

 _Merry Christmas, Charlotte_.

*

When the clock struck twelve, they begin opening their gifts.

Becky smiles as her family oohs and aahs at the presents they received. This is one of the reasons she works so hard, so her family could be as comfortable as possible. She eagerly opens her own gifts, too, and smiles in appreciation at each one.

All too soon the living room is filled with wrapping paper and tape, and there is just one gift left underneath the tree. Her mother takes it and looks at it curiously, before shaking her head. "This one's yours, Rebecca," she says.

"I know, mum."

She takes all her gifts into her arms and grabs the package from her mother. She bids her relatives a good morning, and a merry Christmas, before making her way to her room and locking the door.

Carefully, Becky puts away all the gifts that she received, before sitting on her bed and staring at the present that Charlotte had given her. The packaging offers no clues as to what it could be; it's a rectangle that's about a couple of inches thick. It could be anything, Becky thinks.

In the living room, she had torn into the wrapping paper that covered her other gifts. This time, she carefully untucks the tape that Charlotte used, and unfolds the glistening piece of paper. For some reason, she does not want to tear the paper apart, not even a little bit.

When she has unwrapped the entire package, Becky takes the time to fold the wrapping paper and set it aside. She also takes the card stuck to it, one that simply says: "To Becky, with much love, from Charlotte. Happy Holidays."

The paper covered a simple white box. Becky lifts up the lid, and sees that it contains what appears to be a book.

She takes the book out of its case. She opens it. She gasps.

It's not, strictly speaking, a book. Oh, it has pages, and words, and pictures, but it's not a book. Instead, it's a  scrapbook, one that seems to have been made personally.

It traces their friendship from back when they met in NXT, to their years in the main roster, to their time together in SmackDown. There are receipts to restaurants that Becky has already forgotten, tickets to movies that she barely remembers. There are pictures she never realized that they had taken. There are hand-written notes, from her to Charlotte, that she no longer recalls writing.

 _You're doing great, Baby Flair,_ one read _. Don't ever doubt yourself._

 _You're going to be so good, Charlotte, don't worry_ , another read. _And I'll be there with you every step of the way_.

There are notes from Charlotte to _her_ , notes that Becky has never read because apparently her best friend never got the courage to send them. Notes that express her gratitude. Her pride at Becky's accomplishments. How much she treasured their friendship. How deeply she valued Becky's presence in her life.

One note was dated on the day that Becky won the SmackDown Live women's title for the first time. _I was never this happy when I won any of my belts,_ it said _, I'm so happy and so proud, and I -_.  

And here Becky becomes a little confused, because the note is heavily crossed out before Charlotte finally concluded it. _I wish I could have been there to watch you win it._

Another note is dated on the day that Becky won the SmackDown Live women's title for the second time. _I wish I could have raised your hand in the middle of the ring,_ it said, _I wish I had the words to tell you how proud I am of you, how happy, and how --_.

And here Becky becomes confused again, because once more the words were heavily crossed out, as if Charlotte could not bear to keep them within herself, and so she had to write them -- but at the same time, she could not bear for those words to be read, and so she had to erase them as if they never existed.

She finally concluded it: _It was my greatest honor, to be in the ring with you that night_.

Becky doesn't know when she begins to cry, but suddenly a tear is wetting the paper that bears Charlotte's flowing handwriting, and she gasps as some of the words blur together as a result. She immediately wipes away her tears, and turns the pages: there are more recent memories there, memories that Becky is well aware of.

There is a picture of them hugging, and Becky knows it is from the night of Evolution. That night she remembers refusing medical attention until her best friend had made her way to the back, until Charlotte crossed the curtain and she fell into Becky's arms, and they held on to each other and sobbed together as everyone applauded their effort.

There is a picture of them sitting beside each other, and Becky knows this because it was taken just a couple of weeks ago, at TLC. That night she remembers how she begged for Charlotte's forgiveness, because she _hurt_ her best friend, seriously hurt her, and Charlotte had just laughed even as she clutched her aching ribs and leaned onto Becky. She remembers helping Charlotte sit down, and sitting next to her, and the taller woman saying: "We are so good at this, Becky, we're _amazing_."

She remembers, blurting out: " _You're_ amazing."

The last page contains an envelope. Becky feels a little apprehensive, but she opens it and takes out the letter inside.

The letter is short, simple, and to the point.

 _I love you. I mean, I'm_ in love _with you. I didn't know how else to tell you. I hope that's all right. I hope it's enough._

Charlotte is all the way on the other side of the Atlantic. Becky's hands tremble as she reaches for her phone.

It rings before she can dial a single number.

*

The package reaches Charlotte's house at 7:00 p.m. on the dot, on Christmas eve.

She opens it immediately; she does not have Becky's self-control.

When she sees what's inside, she gasps a little. It's a good thing that she's already sitting, she thinks.

Charlotte lifts up the bracelet from its case, and touches each individual charm delicately. When she reaches the Claddagh ring, she begins to cry.

Hands for friendship. Crown for loyalty. And the heart… she knows.

How long she sits there, crying, clutching onto the gift, she can't tell. But after a while, Charlotte hiccups and tries to put herself together. She wipes away her tears, and looks at the box that had fallen to the floor in her haste to open it.

There is a note there, and Charlotte's hands tremble as she reads it.

 _I know I haven't shown in these past few months,_ it began _, but I love you. I've loved you for a long time. I'm sorry if this is the only way I can tell you. I don't know how. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

She wipes away her tears again, but more keep falling as she goes over Becky's words once more.

Charlotte reaches for her phone and dials Becky's number.

It rings once, twice, three times.

*

"Hi.

"Hi.

"I got your gift."

"I opened yours."

"So… what do you think?"

"Have you been crying, Charlotte?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"... maybe I cried a little."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I think… I think that I want to fly to North Carolina right now, to be with you. What do you think?"

"I think… I think that I waited years for this moment. Maybe I can wait a couple more days."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain."

"Merry Christmas, then."

"Merry Christmas, Becky."

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas yall! find me on tumblr at rebeccaquinoa


End file.
